


you could have said no

by eruthiel



Category: The Monster Hunters (Podcast)
Genre: 1970s, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Sequence, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruthiel/pseuds/eruthiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if you wanted to, you could have walked away</p>
            </blockquote>





	you could have said no

**Author's Note:**

> An origin story in ten drabbles. I ticked gen, but there are light overtones of various canon & non-canon ships. [Title from here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOkb58YbtQo) Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated :)

You boys may see me as nothing but the stuffy old genius who bankrolls all your little adventures and generally keeps this entire operation running like clockwork, but believe me when I say there's a lot more to Sir Maxwell House than meets the eye. I've seen off a vampire or two before now, you know! Long time ago, of course. Don't have it in me to do that sort of thing on the regular any more. Can't do much staking with a dodgy elbow and an aluminium thumb, as the saying goes! But why should I stop enjoying myself?

* * *

There is a formula, and it's more specific than simple brains and brawn. You need the _right_ brains, for instance; no call for theoretical physics or literary criticism in this business. Each partner should be weak where the other is strong; order breaks down if the muscle is clever.

Don't attempt to engineer chemistry by choosing candidates with common ground. Rest assured that working closely in dangerous situations will give them more than enough on which to build a powerful bond. In fact, it's not unusual for them to become _too_ attached to one another, after a year or two.

* * *

Suki has priorities, and men (other than Sir Maxwell) are a very, very long way down the list. On the sub-list of her priorities with regard to men, the ability to fell a horse with a single punch is a barely-visible speck. Nevertheless, she remembers Roy Steel, posed in the pull-out poster in the middle of _Jackie_. She used to cover up his moustache; he was handsome without it.

She listens to Sir Maxwell's stream of consciousness about his search for the perfect fists: unfettered by intellect and wrapped in questionable conduct; where to find such a man? Suki remembers.

* * *

An angel touches down in the yard. Spinning metal wings, roaring. Come to take him home. He asks no questions, climbs inside, watches the painful earth disappear beneath a haze of cloud.

When she shakes him awake, he finds that Heaven looks a lot like a London townhouse. Very large, very beautiful. Saint Peter is a jovial, brandy-swilling old chap who shouts a lot about something unimportant.

His angel, whose name is Suki, gives him a cigar to puff while she tends to his injuries. Her body is made of light. Roy wonders if he'd be able to touch her.

* * *

Suki shows him to his room. There are dozens of rooms here, most of them empty, but this one is his. For now, she says.

Gentle breeze lifts a white curtain from the bright window. He has a four poster and a long mirror and a huge wardrobe. And hanging up inside, hell's chimneys – clothes he'd given up for lost years ago – scraped out of whatever skip Ginny dumped them in; washed, pressed, still warm. Roy manages to ask how, why, but Suki isn't telling. When she leaves, he sits on the bed and cries over his old favourite cravat.

* * *

He already has enough on his plate trying to fit treasure-hunting trips in around his proper work at the university, so if Sir Maxwell really expects him to participate in two separate vigilante teams at the same time, well, frankly, the only thing crazier would be to ask him to stop taking commissions with Margot and completely dedicate himself instead to a new partnership with that troubling degenerate Sir Maxwell is trying to rehabilitate, and Lorrimer wishes him luck with that charitable enterprise, really he does, but really, you know, how many times does a man have to say no?

* * *

We know how hard this is for you. But god knows, with Margot gone, the department needs you more than ever. Money does not grow on trees in the world of occult studies, Lorrimer, unless you can find us a mythical money tree. Can you? Right, just checking. Anyway. None of us can afford to slack off.

Lorrimer doesn't leave work until eight that night. When he gets home, he rustles up a garlic baguette and eats the whole thing alone in bed. Before falling asleep, he turns Sir Maxwell's business card over and over in his garlic buttery fingers.

* * *

A meaty hand comforts Lorrimer's back as he retches into the sink. You all right, old man? I'll be fine, thank you, must be something I ate. It's funny, you turned green the moment lovely Suki came in with our drinks, if I didn't know better, etcetera.

What am I doing here? I've got a serious academic career. Monster hunting was fun, but look where it got me, us. I'm not going through all that again with this idiot. And he thinks I'm a, you know, because I won't lech after girls with him. I'm going insane without you, Margot.

* * *

(For the record: I'm pretty sure he _is_ a, you know. Never looks at a lady. Won't even stay in the room with one! Which isn't unreasonable, but it's got my Steel Sense tingling. I met that wife of his before she died, but that doesn't mean anything. He'd probably lose his job if they found out. They have civil rights protests nowadays, apparently. Good for them. I suppose I don't mind if he keeps it to himself. What if he finds me sexy? I _am_ sexy, so I couldn't exactly blame him. Jesus. Best not to think about it.)

* * *

Take two elements. Any two elements. (Must we hear this again?) Just so we're all clear who everyone is! (Which of us is water and which is electricity? It doesn't matter, it's a metaphor.) No, Chesterfield, it's a fair question. Obviously you're water, Roy, because too much of you will kill a houseplant, and Lorrimer, you're electricity because you can read. Or was it the other way around? (I always picture it as if I'm the bath and Roy's the dropped toaster. Sort of incongruous and very abruptly lethal. And monsters are the ones getting fried! What a good metaphor.)


End file.
